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Where did all that time go? Three years here, and yet it feels like I’ve spent more of it contemplating Berlin than truly connecting with it. I keep wavering between kindness and honesty in my writing, depending on the day. A recent weekend away finally brought some clarity. So here it goes.
Maybe I’ve hit an exploration plateau. I’ve had a colourful, unconventional life, and this endless cycle of open experimentation — what Berlin practically begs you to dive into — feels like a chapter I’ve already read. It’s familiar, sure, but it’s also exactly what I’m trying to leave behind. I don’t need to keep going over the same ground. I’m 30 now, and in the past few months, I’ve started to get a few things straight. Feels like I’m finally headed in the right direction.
Berlin’s lifestyle feels more like a hindrance than an inspiration, and by year three, I feel it in my bones. The nightlife, the easy access to substances — it’s freeing, sure, but for me, it dredges up habits I’d rather leave behind. If I’m honest, it’s been a kind of abuse to my body, a far cry from what truly feeds my heart. Instead of helping me grow, it’s been pulling me further from my faith and any real sense of who I am, leaving me dissatisfied, anxious, and wondering if I’m just wasting precious time.
I’ve often questioned why I moved here — obviously, it was for work — but was there some greater reason, something that conspired to bring me here? Now I think — though it may be too soon to say — that maybe I came here to confront the deepest, darkest parts of myself, the parts I don’t particularly like. Being here has given me more time and space to face these sides of myself than anywhere else has. It’s forced me to confront my demons, my depression, and everything I’d rather bury, whether through drinking, nightlife, people, or simply navigating this place. It brings it all to the surface; it's ugly, but I know it’s the only way to acknowledge it and work through it. And in doing so, I’ve learned a lot, especially about the parts of myself I’d rather hide away.
Did I need this lesson? I’m not sure, maybe not. But if I hadn’t confronted these darker parts of myself, maybe I wouldn’t have come to these realisations. Perhaps I’d have stayed the same.
I feel like living here doesn’t make me a better person; if anything, it’s pulled me away from my faith, leaving me disconnected from the person I want to be. It feels harder when everyone around me is lost in their own explorations, and the city is loud — but in a way that doesn’t resonate with me. So maybe what I’m really searching for in the next chapter of my life is a place that inspires me to feel better, to do better.
When my friends come to Berlin, they’re thrilled to dive into the scene, eager to check off every hedonistic fantasy. But I’ve felt this kind of numbness, where even the wildest moments barely make a dent. It’s strange how quickly the brain normalises everything, even the extremes. Walking into KitKat and feeling nothing? That’s a sign. It all just blends into the background.
The first time I went to KitKat, it was to see a friend perform. You hear the stories, expecting some intense, gritty sex scene. Dark, chaotic, wild. But instead, it was almost… sweet. Everyone was on MDMA, sprawled out in giant cuddle puddles, more like a mass therapy session than anything else. Not shocking — just kind of cute, soft, unthreatening.
Berlin has left me feeling disillusioned. This once revolutionary, progressive, and creative city now feels somewhat performative and insincere. Ironically, I’ve never felt so censored in my life. Politically, being here in 2024 is challenging, to say the least. It’s unsettling to witness how, when voices challenge the status quo, history’s darker cycles seem to repeat themselves — how those who show solidarity, who don’t fit the ideal, face repression. Mindsets like that don’t shift overnight; they linger, re-emerging when we least expect. You have to constantly move with love and hope, but it’s hard to foster that here.
You can create all the communities you want, but if they don’t nourish the soul, body, and mind, do they even matter?
With Diwali approaching, I’m reminded of the warmth and joy of celebrating with friends and family back home. Though I don’t practise Hinduism, we still joined in the festivities, gathering together to eat, celebrate, and connect. One of the few times I felt this same energy here was during a simple Sunday lunch at my place. It was relaxed — people coming and going, eating, drinking, watching sports. It felt homely, genuine, and gave me a sense of something I’d been missing. For a moment, it was real.
I dont think I'll ever get used to an individualistic lifestyle; I want to live in a place where, if I’m out of milk, I can go to my neighbour. Where, if I’m going out for a fancy night out, the girls at the local salon know about it. Where the corner coffee shop owner and I share the same music taste. And as I write this, it makes me emotional because I had all of this, and now I’m not even sure why I left it.
Maybe I thought Berlin would be a breath of fresh air, something bigger and better for myself. And in a way, it has been — but somewhere along the line, I forgot to feed my soul. That’s it — Berlin doesn’t feed my soul, and that’s why it feels like I’m living in a paradox, almost like a Sims world. It looks fun and exciting on the outside, but inside, it’s hollow. Beneath the surface, there’s an emptiness I can’t ignore.
As a Londoner, Berlin can be both liberating and lonely. London’s got this raw intensity, a sense of community and purpose, like everyone has a role in this giant, chaotic, interconnected fabric. It’s gritty, yes, but there’s a feeling that everyone’s holding it together, through the good and the bad. Berlin? It’s more transient, more individualistic. People here float in and out, unbound, moving at their own pace, in their own orbit. Berlin is a magnet for people who feel a little out of place, who don’t quite fit in anywhere else. And, of course, I feel like that sometimes and maybe that’s why I was also drawn to it at first — a space to just exist without judgement. But without the grounding that comes from a real sense of community, it can also feel isolating, like the freedom here often slips into a kind of drift.
Finding something rooted, something that sticks here? That’s so hard. In London, people dig in, invest in their neighbourhoods and each other. Here, it’s like everyone’s on their own wavelength, moving in different directions.That obviously works for some people, but not for me.
Berlin didn’t inspire me to start a revolution, but it did spark something unexpected. Out of all the angst and haze, I found myself wanting to share a piece of my culture that felt real — a slice of my London-Bengali roots — and that’s how Roti Mami was born. It was about building something genuine, creating a bit of connection in a city that often feels like it drifts. It’s been the one truly positive focus, something that pulls me out of the chaos and makes my time here feel worthwhile. There are other things, sure, but this? This has been something truly special.
A friend of mine recently said (imagine this in a rich Nigerian accent): “Rez, you’re a big lady now, you can’t be getting yourself caught up in these little things.” And he’s got a point. When you’re aiming higher, there’s a shift — a realisation that the nightlife circuit, the repetitive scenes, just don’t cut it anymore. Pulling back, spending time with people who actually matter, doing things that genuinely feed the soul, and finally listening to your body — that’s what feels right. The energy aligns, and you start feeling good in a different way.
The tricky part, though, is that it has to come from within. Cutting out the noise isn’t easy, especially in a city like Berlin, where distractions are endless. So, I’m considering a move. I need somewhere that matches my values and what I really need. I’m not sure where yet, but if the universe has my back — well, pick me up. I’m ready for whatever’s next.
I didn’t intend for this to come across as a sad reflection. In the time I’ve bought myself — the job I have, and everything I’ve been through — it’s all given me the clarity I needed. Now, I’m in a better place, excited for the future, and I’m already working on it and on myself. This feels good.
The track I’ll leave you with today is NO EVIL by SiR.
Love,
Rez x
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Where did all that time go? Three years here, and yet it feels like I’ve spent more of it contemplating Berlin than truly connecting with it. I keep wavering between kindness and honesty in my writing, depending on the day. A recent weekend away finally brought some clarity. So here it goes.
Maybe I’ve hit an exploration plateau. I’ve had a colourful, unconventional life, and this endless cycle of open experimentation — what Berlin practically begs you to dive into — feels like a chapter I’ve already read. It’s familiar, sure, but it’s also exactly what I’m trying to leave behind. I don’t need to keep going over the same ground. I’m 30 now, and in the past few months, I’ve started to get a few things straight. Feels like I’m finally headed in the right direction.
Berlin’s lifestyle feels more like a hindrance than an inspiration, and by year three, I feel it in my bones. The nightlife, the easy access to substances — it’s freeing, sure, but for me, it dredges up habits I’d rather leave behind. If I’m honest, it’s been a kind of abuse to my body, a far cry from what truly feeds my heart. Instead of helping me grow, it’s been pulling me further from my faith and any real sense of who I am, leaving me dissatisfied, anxious, and wondering if I’m just wasting precious time.
I’ve often questioned why I moved here — obviously, it was for work — but was there some greater reason, something that conspired to bring me here? Now I think — though it may be too soon to say — that maybe I came here to confront the deepest, darkest parts of myself, the parts I don’t particularly like. Being here has given me more time and space to face these sides of myself than anywhere else has. It’s forced me to confront my demons, my depression, and everything I’d rather bury, whether through drinking, nightlife, people, or simply navigating this place. It brings it all to the surface; it's ugly, but I know it’s the only way to acknowledge it and work through it. And in doing so, I’ve learned a lot, especially about the parts of myself I’d rather hide away.
Did I need this lesson? I’m not sure, maybe not. But if I hadn’t confronted these darker parts of myself, maybe I wouldn’t have come to these realisations. Perhaps I’d have stayed the same.
I feel like living here doesn’t make me a better person; if anything, it’s pulled me away from my faith, leaving me disconnected from the person I want to be. It feels harder when everyone around me is lost in their own explorations, and the city is loud — but in a way that doesn’t resonate with me. So maybe what I’m really searching for in the next chapter of my life is a place that inspires me to feel better, to do better.
When my friends come to Berlin, they’re thrilled to dive into the scene, eager to check off every hedonistic fantasy. But I’ve felt this kind of numbness, where even the wildest moments barely make a dent. It’s strange how quickly the brain normalises everything, even the extremes. Walking into KitKat and feeling nothing? That’s a sign. It all just blends into the background.
The first time I went to KitKat, it was to see a friend perform. You hear the stories, expecting some intense, gritty sex scene. Dark, chaotic, wild. But instead, it was almost… sweet. Everyone was on MDMA, sprawled out in giant cuddle puddles, more like a mass therapy session than anything else. Not shocking — just kind of cute, soft, unthreatening.
Berlin has left me feeling disillusioned. This once revolutionary, progressive, and creative city now feels somewhat performative and insincere. Ironically, I’ve never felt so censored in my life. Politically, being here in 2024 is challenging, to say the least. It’s unsettling to witness how, when voices challenge the status quo, history’s darker cycles seem to repeat themselves — how those who show solidarity, who don’t fit the ideal, face repression. Mindsets like that don’t shift overnight; they linger, re-emerging when we least expect. You have to constantly move with love and hope, but it’s hard to foster that here.
You can create all the communities you want, but if they don’t nourish the soul, body, and mind, do they even matter?
With Diwali approaching, I’m reminded of the warmth and joy of celebrating with friends and family back home. Though I don’t practise Hinduism, we still joined in the festivities, gathering together to eat, celebrate, and connect. One of the few times I felt this same energy here was during a simple Sunday lunch at my place. It was relaxed — people coming and going, eating, drinking, watching sports. It felt homely, genuine, and gave me a sense of something I’d been missing. For a moment, it was real.
I dont think I'll ever get used to an individualistic lifestyle; I want to live in a place where, if I’m out of milk, I can go to my neighbour. Where, if I’m going out for a fancy night out, the girls at the local salon know about it. Where the corner coffee shop owner and I share the same music taste. And as I write this, it makes me emotional because I had all of this, and now I’m not even sure why I left it.
Maybe I thought Berlin would be a breath of fresh air, something bigger and better for myself. And in a way, it has been — but somewhere along the line, I forgot to feed my soul. That’s it — Berlin doesn’t feed my soul, and that’s why it feels like I’m living in a paradox, almost like a Sims world. It looks fun and exciting on the outside, but inside, it’s hollow. Beneath the surface, there’s an emptiness I can’t ignore.
As a Londoner, Berlin can be both liberating and lonely. London’s got this raw intensity, a sense of community and purpose, like everyone has a role in this giant, chaotic, interconnected fabric. It’s gritty, yes, but there’s a feeling that everyone’s holding it together, through the good and the bad. Berlin? It’s more transient, more individualistic. People here float in and out, unbound, moving at their own pace, in their own orbit. Berlin is a magnet for people who feel a little out of place, who don’t quite fit in anywhere else. And, of course, I feel like that sometimes and maybe that’s why I was also drawn to it at first — a space to just exist without judgement. But without the grounding that comes from a real sense of community, it can also feel isolating, like the freedom here often slips into a kind of drift.
Finding something rooted, something that sticks here? That’s so hard. In London, people dig in, invest in their neighbourhoods and each other. Here, it’s like everyone’s on their own wavelength, moving in different directions.That obviously works for some people, but not for me.
Berlin didn’t inspire me to start a revolution, but it did spark something unexpected. Out of all the angst and haze, I found myself wanting to share a piece of my culture that felt real — a slice of my London-Bengali roots — and that’s how Roti Mami was born. It was about building something genuine, creating a bit of connection in a city that often feels like it drifts. It’s been the one truly positive focus, something that pulls me out of the chaos and makes my time here feel worthwhile. There are other things, sure, but this? This has been something truly special.
A friend of mine recently said (imagine this in a rich Nigerian accent): “Rez, you’re a big lady now, you can’t be getting yourself caught up in these little things.” And he’s got a point. When you’re aiming higher, there’s a shift — a realisation that the nightlife circuit, the repetitive scenes, just don’t cut it anymore. Pulling back, spending time with people who actually matter, doing things that genuinely feed the soul, and finally listening to your body — that’s what feels right. The energy aligns, and you start feeling good in a different way.
The tricky part, though, is that it has to come from within. Cutting out the noise isn’t easy, especially in a city like Berlin, where distractions are endless. So, I’m considering a move. I need somewhere that matches my values and what I really need. I’m not sure where yet, but if the universe has my back — well, pick me up. I’m ready for whatever’s next.
I didn’t intend for this to come across as a sad reflection. In the time I’ve bought myself — the job I have, and everything I’ve been through — it’s all given me the clarity I needed. Now, I’m in a better place, excited for the future, and I’m already working on it and on myself. This feels good.
The track I’ll leave you with today is NO EVIL by SiR.
Love,
Rez x
Related Articles:
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